


Gift of Ganon

by thebakkat



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 07:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6275710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebakkat/pseuds/thebakkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Enduring Resolve - Zant and Ghirahim barely escape the battlefield with their lives. Without Ganondorf's guidance, the two reason their only option is to flee the war altogether.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gift of Ganon

Ghirahim and Zant emerged from the twilit portal, collapsing into the dust of the Gerudo Desert as the Twili’s magic flickered from existence behind them.

The sword spirit righted himself slowly, his partner gasping weakly against the shifting sands. They had only just barely made it out of the battlefield alive - Ghirahim had expended too much energy fighting off the Hylian army - and Zant, ever skilled at keeping himself out of harm’s way, had met the business end of the wretched youth Link’s blade. With the last of his available power, Zant had cast a portal so that they may escape, but it now left the Twili unconscious. 

Ghirahim took the gangly Twili in his arms, using what little energy he had to teleport them both past the heavy door of their master’s fortress, appearing in the infirmary.

Ghirahim laid Zant down on one of many free beds - the fortress was completely empty, all units still fighting a hopeless battle deeper into the desert. He worked quickly to disrobe his mate - the helmet for which the Twili was famous cast aside with a clatter to the stone floor before Ghirahim peeled back Zant’s needlessly obstructive robes. They were damp, reeking of both sweat and blood.

A nasty gash in Zant’s side was the first injury to receive attention. Ghirahim’s nostrils flared at the sharp tang of the Twili’s lifeblood, deep red and oozing slowly over soft, grey skin. The demon ladled cool water over the wound, softly shushing and cooing to soothe his lover when he was met with a screech of protest, before dabbing a thick salve made with red potion directly into Zant’s flesh.

He screamed, louder this time, baring needling teeth as the Twili writhed against the makeshift mattress. Ghirahim continued, tightly wrapping fresh gauze around Zant’s abdomen, but not so tight that the Twili would be unable to breathe. After a quick inspection, he deemed Zant’s remaining injuries inconsequential and tipped a fresh potion into Zant’s fractured mouth, catching any that dribbled from the splits in the Twili’s lips. Zant soon settled down, glowing eyes cracking open slightly for the first time in a long while.

“Ghirahim...my [sweet one…]”

“Hush,” the sword spirit said, pressing a gloved finger to dark lips before wiping fresh tears from Zant’s eyes. “Save your strength.”

Ghirahim took a cloth and soaked it through with cold water - he laid it over the rune on Zant’s forehead. It was no secret that the heat and dryness of the desert was highly uncomfortable for the Twili, and the demon did all he could do to soothe him.

He felt a hand on his own.

“The army…” Zant said with a cough - he winced at the pain in his side. “What will we do now?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ghirahim stared onward, into the aged stone of the wall. “We lost - without Ganondorf, we’re nothing more than a band of common crooks to those Hylians, especially when they keep calling forth more captains from across the eons. There’s nothing left to do but to either die at the hands of the enemy or keep running - and we’re nearly out of time to have the privilege of a choice in the matter.”

His strength already returning, Zant pulled himself slowly up to a sit, his breath shuddering at the twinge in his chest.

“It was not the Master’s intent to perish at the hand of the boy, Ghirahim. You dishonor him with your words. But,” he said, looking down at the bruises that painted his arms, already starting to fade with the potion’s effects. “You are right - we must flee if we are to keep our lives.”

The sword spirit huffed and stood, fingers curling.

“Can you stand?” Ghirahim asked, still avoiding eye contact.

Zant nodded. “I think so - the potion is doing its job. My smaller wounds are mere scratches thanks to your healing touch, my [sweet one.]” Slowly, he swung his legs to hang over the side of the bed, before using Ghirahim’s support to rise to his feet. The bandaged wound on Zant’s side caused his brow to furrow in pain - unable to take steps yet on his own, he leaned against his mate as they slowly climbed the stairway to their shared chambers.

“If there’s anything you deem important, I would gather it now,” Ghirahim said, setting Zant down to sit on the bed. “But keep your list brief - we can probably only afford to carry our accrued Rupees with us.”

Zant looked at Ghirahim solemnly.

“I do not have any remaining possessions, Ghirahim - besides our shared money, I retain nothing.”

“So be it then,” said the sword spirit, tearing open their chest of drawers to reach their shared stash of Rupees. “...what’s this?”

As Ghirahim lifted the sack from the cabinet, beneath it lay an embossed letter sealed with wax. He turned it over to inspect it further.

“What is it, Ghirahim?” Zant chirped from the bed, craning the column of his neck in a vain attempt to peer over the demon’s shoulder from a distance.

Ghirahim paused, his hands shaking slightly as he stared through the envelope.

“A letter - from Ganondorf.”

“ _What?_ ” the demon heard from behind him. “How is that possible?”

Ghirahim couldn’t answer him - he had no clue himself. Their door was locked at almost all times - it must have been through sorcery that this letter appeared before them, and now of all moments in time. The demon was called back to reality by Zant’s voice.

“What does it say?”

What _did_ it say? What business did Ganondorf have addressing them from beyond the grave? After dooming them to fend off a Hylian army reinforced with warriors from across time and space? Ghirahim seethed, glaring at the wax seal that adorned the envelope, an intricate pattern much like that of the Goddess Din. Suddenly, he noticed a shadow cast over him. Zant’s hand reached down and plucked the letter from Ghirahim’s grip.

Zant wasted no time in tearing open the envelope, ripping the letter out from inside. He read, with a natural accent and lilt that Ghirahim had grown to love.

“Ghirahim - Zant,

“I write to you with the knowledge of my impending demise. Very soon, you will be without a master. The enemy grows stronger and more numerous as the days pass - and as formidable as we have become, we are no match for their power. For this, I am truly sorry - but know I was proud to call you two my captains. You were unparalleled in the field and I would not choose any others to assist me.”

Ghirahim rolled his eyes - but his expression softened when he heard sniffling coming from Zant. The Twili had read ahead, but he took a breath to continue reading aloud.

“As my campaign grew I came to treasure the pair of you, as well as the bond you shared with each other. When you came to me that night, inviting me to your ceremony, I knew that what you have - your life together is worth so much more than this war.

“So with this letter, I hereby relinquish you of your duties as captains. You are no longer to be associated with my army.”

“ _WHAT?”_ screeched Ghirahim through gritted teeth, his eyes widening. His fingers curled into clenched fists again. For all their hard work, they were getting _fired?_

“In the drawer of your end-table is a key. It unlocks my chambers - inside you will find my savings - all my accumulated treasures. With the anticipation of my defeat I have no need for money - so I request only that you take it and use it to make a life together. Buy a house - a carriage - a book shop - I care not for the specifics. Consider it your last duty to fulfill under my employ.”

Zant set the letter down, neatly folding it and returning it to the envelope. Marks left by fresh tears left stripes on the narrow slopes of his cheeks.

“Oh, Ghirahim…” he croaked. “What an amazing gesture…”

The Twili leaned to his side, ignoring the twinge beneath his bandages as he opened the drawer in the nightstand.

“Here is the key! The Master really left us his key! Come, Ghirahim - let us make our way to the Master’s chambers!”

Zant used the frame of their bed to right himself, approaching Ghirahim in a pained shuffle. He reached out his hand, which Ghirahim batted away.

“I will not.”

Zant’s expression fell from one of joy to one of confusion. He tilted his head to the side, eyes wide.

“What? Ghirahim, we-”

“He knew, Zant!” Ghirahim cried, his fist flying through the air and connecting harshly with their cabinet - stained wood splintered at the impact, a massive divot left behind. “He knew he would fall! He left us to die here defending this fortress!”

The demon’s chest rose and fell as he seethed through pointed fangs. Zant’s eyes grew wider at his anger, his words - tears bubbled up beneath glowing coals as Ghirahim continued.

“This letter? It wasn’t here yesterday, Zant - he didn’t let us flee when we had the chance to emerge unscathed. He only waited for us to fail - to concede defeat to an unbeatable enemy, but give our fair shake at it first!”

“Ghirahim…”

“So _screw_ Ganondorf! He and his treasure can burn in Din’s eternal flame for all I care. That oaf of a Gerudo was no master of mine.”

“Please.”

“Please _what?_ ” Ghirahim snapped, whipping his head up to meet Zant’s gaze. The Twili was clearly holding back sobs, his bottom lip trembling. The demon’s bristling posture softened, only slightly. “Zant…”

“It pains me, Ghirahim,” Zant sputtered. “To hear you say such things of our Master. After all he’s done for us?”

He glared now, lips drawn back to bare his teeth.

“We need the treasure, Ghirahim. We do not have much - nor do we have a plan. If we are truly to flee, to start a life together - which you know I wish more than anything, my [sweet one] - we must take it.”

Ghirahim said nothing, fire burning behind his gaze, but sharply offered his arm to his mate, so that they may make their way to Ganondorf’s chambers.

* * *

They arrived at the great wooden door, perhaps one of the largest in all the fortress - Ghirahim unceremoniously unlocked it, muttering something about just being able to teleport inside himself. 

Once inside, Zant found himself enraptured by the decor - he had never been inside Ganondorf’s private quarters for more than a few moments, and quickly set off to touch and observe everything he could, from the animal skins that adorned his massive bed, to the accumulated war trophies strewn across the furniture.

Ghirahim held his tongue - he had been here before, and under circumstances he’d rather not discuss in great detail with his lifelong mate. Instead, he searched for the treasure. His anger still boiled beneath his false skin - he had half a mind to invite Zant to join him in defiling the sheets that the Twili was so eagerly petting, but quashed the idea - it wasn’t like Zant would agree to such a thought, anyway.

After several minutes, the pair turned up with nothing - but of course Ganondorf would not simply leave his prizes out in the open. From the end table, Ghirahim noticed their key glowing a faint red. Picking it up, the gem fitted in the top shone brighter, emitting a small noise, which varied in pitch and frequency as the demon moved through the room.

“A magic key! How clever!” He heard Zant chirp from across the room.

Ghirahim only grunted in acknowledgement as he swept the premises with the key, observing the changes in sound as he went. It shone at its brightest at the foot of the bed, so wasting little time, the demon pushed the oversized bed off to the side - in comparison to Zant’s lanky body, Ghirahim’s statue seemed diminutive, but he would not hesitate to remind those who underestimated him of his true power as a sword spirit. In a few moments, the bed was cast to the end of the room, and the key shone even brighter.

The key pulled itself from Ghirahim’s grip and floated before the pair before dissolving into thin air. A magical force-field, previously invisible, rippled away to reveal an enormous treasure chest. As the remaining visible fragment of the key faded from view, the chest popped open.

A gasp could be heard from Zant as Ghirahim stared at the chest’s contents.

It was more than they could have imagined - making an attempt to reach to the bottom of the chest, Ghirahim’s eyes widened as his arm went further than the box’s boundaries allowed. It was enchanted to hold more treasure than was physically possible. The demon had to admit he was impressed - but he quickly whipped his head around to glare at Zant.

“We’ll take it - only to save it from those thieving Bokoblins. But I refuse to use it. Not unless it’s an absolutely dire emergency - we have more than enough funds to sustain ourselves.”

Zant found it hard to suppress a smile.

“I will store it in one of my portals so that we may call upon it when we please,” and before Ghirahim could say anything, he corrected himself. “Of course, _if_ we need it.”

Still shaking slightly from his battle wounds, Zant stood and cast before him a swirling black-and-teal twilit portal. The chest dissipated into blackness before being sucked inside - Zant almost raised his hands again to close it, but looked at Ghirahim instead.

“We should use this to escape as well - it beats crossing the desert on foot. I do not think I would be able to do so in this state, anyway.”

“You’re sure? My love, with your injuries, I wouldn’t want to tax you with transporting us away from here.”

Zant nodded. “I will do it - I wish to leave as much as you do  - and quite frankly,” he added. “I quite loathe your method of teleportation. It makes me rather ill.”

* * *

 The two padded lightly along the edge of the Faron Woods. Just on the other side of the forest lay civilization, but it was too close to all the fighting to stay for long. There was too high a risk that the pair would run into Hylian captains. For now, they had to lie low.

The moon had settled high in the night sky before Ghirahim and Zant arrived at a rather dilapidated inn on the edge of town. While the fare was cheap, it had become immediately apparent that the pair’s combined funds would not support this sort of lifestyle - Ghirahim had forgotten to factor in food costs, and Zant, unlike the sword spirit, required sustenance to survive.

With what they had, they could only last a few weeks, which only prompted Ghirahim to take every cost-cutting precaution imaginable: they would continue to travel, setting up camps as they went as well as tracking and hunting for food - a skill at which neither of them were particularly skilled.

Another night came - Zant wordlessly picked at a fish he had managed to pluck from the nearby river. The flesh was overdone, as always, but barely enough to calm his roaring stomach. With how much time they spent travelling, Ghirahim only allowed for one meal a day, so the Twili was taking his time and savoring what little meat he had.

Zant’s overall appearance had become disheveled. His hair grew unruly (more so than usual) - his clothes, blood-soaked robes now replaced with one of Ganondorf’s nightshirts, were filthy despite repeated attempts at washing them. Ghirahim had no problem maintaining his own appearance through the use of magic, but he couldn’t generate soap from his sorcery - only swords.

The mated pair were quiet with one another - barely speaking as their relationship grew more and more strained. Ghirahim watched Zant eat from across the fire only to be met with occasional glances of scorn - exasperated, the sword spirit stood and teleported off to the side of their campsite, laying himself down one of two animal skins he had swiped from Ganondorf’s quarters.

He had fallen asleep, he presumed, because the light of their fire had vanished, the blaze reduced to a few hot coals - his body was joined by another. Zant’s back was pressed to that of the demon - he was shaking, sniffles and sobs sputtering from closed lips. Ghirahim turned to him.

“Shh, darling - everything's all right,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to the Twili’s neck. Zant flinched away from him, curling his body into a ball.

“No, it is _not_ all right!” He yelled, flipping himself over to face Ghirahim. “I am going to _die_ out here like an _animal_ because of your pride, Ghirahim! You disrespect me without hesitiation!” His breathing was frantic, the stress on his ribcage threatening to exacerbate his healing wound.

“I need food, Ghirahim! I need shelter, a bed! A home!”

“Zant…” he started, but he knew he had no excuses. He was mistreating his mate, all because of his own stubbornness. But he could not forgive Ganondorf for casting them aside - to pay them off in exchange for leaving them for dead in the desert.

“If you would just understand,” the demon said, only to be cut off by Zant, who pulled himself to a sit.

“Understand _what,_ Ghirahim?” He spat. “That Ganondorf knew he would fall? I understand that perfectly well - and I have come to terms with it. Do you know why?”

Zant took the sleeve of the nightshirt and shoved it up to his shoulder - dark markings, patterns made with black lines over grey skin trickled their way up his arm.

“These markings, the ones you trace in the night can call ‘beautiful,’ are not native to the Twili - they are a brand much like the one you bear, born from the hatred of a former master. I too, know such scorn, from the Ganon of my time, one who manipulated and twisted me into a usurper, a murderer, a betrayer to my people. I have been stripped of nearly all that makes me Twili in exchange for his power, and marked forever as an outcast!”

Zant’s arms flailed wildly as he cried, sleeves flopping back over his hands. Hot tears streamed down his face as drool poured from his mouth.

“So forgive me, my [sweet one,] if, when a new master came to me and treated me as an equal, not a pawn, and left such a bounty in the name of _our love,_ I think it best to honor his wishes by taking such an opportunity!”

He continued to glare at Ghirahim, heaving. The Twili’s breath became ragged as the familiar smell of blood floated to the demon’s nostrils. A deep stain grew across light fabric - Zant had torn his wound open, and was bleeding through his bandages.

Zant noticed as well, yelping out in shock as he covered the gash with his hand.

“Agh! G-Ghirahim…!”

Ghirahim leapt to his feet, rustling through his small bag of supplies.

No more bandages.

Rushing back to Zant’s side, he hoisted the Twili’s form into his arms.

“Hold me as tightly as you can, my love,” he whispered, and teleported, searching his mind as he leapt from place to place. There had to be somewhere he could go, anything he could do to get more supplies - even to get to a doctor. He had to get Zant help, no matter what the cost - pride or no pride, he had to save his mate.

* * *

 Zant’s eyes snapped open with a gasp, as if he had woken from a nightmare. Frantically, he whipped his head around an unfamiliar room before his gaze settled on his mate, sitting in a chair to his left.

“Ghirahim!” He shouted, but flinched, clutching at his side. His bandages were fresh, and more of that stinging, foul-smelling salve had been applied to his wound. The Twili fell back to his bed, which he noted was much softer than the ones they shared at the hotels many nights prior. Closing his eyes to settle back down, he croaked.

 “Where am I?”

 "We’re at a hospital, Zant. Your injury opened itself up and I had no other way to take care of you - and besides, my mate deserves only the best.” The demon reached out his hand to stroke Zant’s hair, which, along with the rest of him, had been washed while the Twili was examined.

 “Granted, they didn’t know exactly what to do with a Twili - the doctor had never seen one before,” Ghirahim said with a smirk. “But I told them red potion works as well on you as it does on anyone else.”

 Zant smiled, and then frowned.

 "Your money…”

 “Yes, I spent it - as much as I needed to see you well again.”

 “I thank you, but…” Zant turned his head to face his mate. “What will we do now?”

Ghirahim took Zant’s hand in his own.

“I realize that I have been selfish - I put my own resentment above your needs, Zant.” His expression was solemn, and his gaze steady. “You are far, far more important to me than my pride - and that’s saying quite a lot.”

The demon smiled, flashing his fangs.

“Does this mean…?” Zant prompted.

“Yes. We’ll use the money. After all, the idea of a home, especially one with you, in which we can live outside of this wretched war, sounds like what Ganondorf thought we deserved.”

Zant squeezed his hand - Ghirahim bent low to grace his lips with a kiss, their first in a very long time. The Twili’s eyes creased into a blissful squint.

“Oh, my [sweet one,] I simply cannot wait! To imagine a home I can share with you, for the rest of my days...!”

“As soon as you’re able to walk from this hospital, I’ll locate a carpenter. And until it’s built, we’ll stay at a real hotel, one that deserves our presence.”

“A real bed! Real food! A real home! ”Zant snuggled back into his pillow.

“And what exactly would you like in this house, my love?” Ghirahim stood, pantomiming as if the hospital room was their future living room. “A balcony? A fireplace? Only the best for you, my Zant.”

Zant pondered, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

“A bathtub.”

“That’s all? A bathtub?”

“Well, no, but...that’s all I can think of at the moment - before I was washed here I smelled exactly like a Bulbllin.”

“Zant, dear…”

Ghirahim kissed his cheek and smiled. 

“You smelled worse than _King Bulblin.”_


End file.
